


The Heart is Mad (Lucky13 #9)

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 13:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1227556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh, sahib. I find that I <i>do</i> display the manners of the British Raj quite adequately."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heart is Mad (Lucky13 #9)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Veritas03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veritas03/gifts).



> Trope: 'historical AU' for veritas03. Title from 'Dil Diwana', as sung by Lata Mangeshkar, from the movie Maine Pyar Kiya (1989). I love that song, and this is the line it comes from: "ye pagalaa (pagla) hai samajha ne se samajhe na". 
> 
> For this historical AU, I fixated on the British Empire in India. If anything about this offends anyone, my deepest apologies. Please point it out and I will do my best to adjust it.
> 
>  **ETA:** I've been getting a lot of comments to continue this! Here's my answer: _As a person of Indian descent (and living in a former British colony), I found this to be surprisingly hard to write; there were a lot of oppressive details that were distressing for me. I don't think I would be able to do more of it at this time, and if I did, I would want to do far more research and do it realistic justice. It had been written as a prompt, a fantastic one given by a fantastic person, and I think it will stay this way for the foreseeable future._

Lord Draco Malfoy didn't expect the driver of the carriage to be someone as young as himself, or so damned disrespectful.

It wasn't overt, of course. These Indians would never be so bold as to show outright insolence, but _this_ one… Draco could see it in the flash of those shockingly green eyes, and the way he had carelessly hefted Draco's luggage from the train-station, to the carriage. He answered Draco's questions in clipped English, and did not seem to be interested in pointing out any of the landmarks as they rattled past. 

Lord Malfoy pressed his lips tightly together and did not deign to fan himself, despite the sweat gathering under the silky material of his cravat. When he arrived at the fort, he would make sure to express his displeasure to the person who had sent _this_ individual to collect him at the station. One of the carriage's wheels rolled over what felt like a sizeable rock and Draco scowled as he bounced against the padded seat. A glint outside the window caught his attention, and he gazed longingly at a small lake as it blurred past.

Despite the discomfort of the journey, Draco managed a fitful doze, flinching awake when the sound of the wheels against the ground changed to the hard clatter of brick paving. The carriage came to a very sudden stop. Draco listened to sounds of the driver dismounting, and then squinted as the door swung open and the bright sunlight invaded the shadowed interior.

"Lord Malfoy," the driver said in a flat tone. "Welcome to Fort Tana." He looked up at Draco in what seemed to be a hard manner, and did not extend his hand to assist Draco descend.

Draco stepped onto the hard ground, and gave the driver a hard glare. "What is your name," he gritted out from between clenched teeth. It wouldn't do to strike anyone on his first day in Konkan, but he was very close. His gloved fingers twitched and he clenched them tightly. Instead of cowering back at his furious expression, the driver simply looked at him with what might have been _contempt_ , of all things, but Draco wasn't sure.

"I am called Harry Potter," the driver answered in his rolling accent. A cool wind pushed in a friendly manner at his messy black hair, wisps coiling at his dark brow and the nape of his neck. For some reason, Draco noted the simplicity of his clothing: the long-sleeved white shirt and the loose trousers.

"That's a British name, isn't it?" Draco kept up his skewering stare. With his pale eyes, he knew that many people found his complete focus to be unsettling. "With a name as such, it might be quite fitting for you to display British manners."

"Oh, sahib," this Harry Potter said with a type of mocking patience, one side of his mouth quirking up. Draco's fury bubbled under his skin. "I find that I _do_ display the manners of the British Raj quite adequately."

Draco took another step towards him. He could hear the approach of the fort's commanders, their jolly calls. "You've been obviously educated by us," he hissed. "I would advise you to act in a manner more befitting of our goodwill."

Harry Potter's slight smile disappeared from his face as effectively as if Draco had slapped it away. "The goodwill of the British Raj is of constant consideration, sahib. It weighs on us, you see. Like an anchor." He did not stop looking right into Draco's eyes. Draco felt an odd heat brush across his cheeks, and he attributed it to his current state of intense annoyance.

"You are," Draco said in a low voice, "the most singularly disrespectful native I have ever had the misfortune to encounter."

Harry Potter bowed at that. He _bowed_ , damn his eyes, bending slightly at the waist without unlocking his gaze from Draco's. "I am here to serve, Lord Malfoy," he intoned and took one step back as the fort-commander finally arrived, greeting him with guarded delight.

 _You are unlike every Indian I have ever met_ , Draco thought at Harry Potter sourly, even as he bestowed a frosty smile on the commander and his retinue. _And I have traveled from Punjab to Orissa. Never in my life!_

+

In the months that followed, Draco efficiently represented the Malfoy company's sale of armaments, and Harry Potter seemed to function as a translator within the fort. They crossed paths quite often, surprisingly. 

"You are unlike any Indian I have ever met," Lord Malfoy once told him after one particularly jarring exchange, in which he found himself cornering Harry Potter behind a thick swath of lush tapestry in one unoccupied meeting room. He had this acidic thought quite often, but this was the first occasion in which he had expressed it outright. Harry Potter looked up at his face with wide eyes and Draco suddenly realised that he had been gripping Harry's waist in both hands, fingers pressed tightly against the warm skin underneath the rough material of his clothing.

Harry Potter gave him a long, almost distant look, chin tilted up. "I am very much like any of my own people, Lord Malfoy," he replied, a cryptic phrase that would frolic around Draco's mind for many hours. Draco actually shook him slightly, still holding him about the waist.

"I could have you," he snapped and they both blinked at each other. Draco had not meant to say that, but he could not take back the truth. He dared to take another step into Harry's space, just as he did the first time they had met; now, he shifted his hips forward and Harry's lips parted. The mounds of their cocks rubbed against each other's, between the many layers of their clothing. "I would take you," he murmured, inclining his head so that his breath traced over Harry's mouth.

"Of course, sahib," Harry Potter said in a tight voice, his body held rigidly. "Just as you have claimed everything else."

Draco jerked back, releasing him as if he had been shot with one of his own guns. Harry Potter offered that slight bow, and then slipped around the blockade of Draco's body, their sleeves brushing as he did so. Draco felt as if a flame had been set too near the skin of that arm, and he spun on one heel to watch Harry stride away. Harry glanced over his shoulder just before he swept through the open door, that very brief look engulfing the rest of Draco's person.

Draco took a deep, shuddering breath. He had never wanted anyone so desperately. 

Never in his life.


End file.
